Casebook 11: The Case Of The Living Painting
by TalepieceUK
Summary: From The Casebook Of Madame Vastra. Vastra and Jenny undertake their most dangerous investigation to date.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: The Case Of The Living Painting  
AUTHOR: Talepiece  
RATING: 12 cert.  
PAIRING: Vastra/Jenny  
SERIES: The Casebook Of Madame Vastra  
CONTINUITY: This is the third story in the third volume of Vastra/Jenny stories. It references last year's Halloween story, _The Case Of The Severed Hand_.  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, please don't sue me.  
CREDITS: This story is loosely based on Manly Wade Wellman's _The Golgotha Dancers_.  
NOTE: The following takes terrible liberties with Doctor Who continuity and mild liberties with Christian doctrine. Or vice versa. If you're uncomfortable with either, read carefully.  
Apologies for the delay in posting. The final part of this volume should be posted earlier next month.  
I'm planning to start a (probably infrequent) blog over at the TP site to post additional notes, etc so keep an eye out for that.  
POSTED: October 2014

* * *

Though there were many dark days in their investigations, the darkest of those was undoubtedly triggered by the case of a strange painting. In attempting to save one of the people most dear to Jenny Flint, the two women would uncover a terrible secret and Vastra herself would come close to loosing that which was most important to her.

Jennifer Strax Vastra-Flint.  
London, 1948.

* * *

Madame Vastra held her colleague and lover Jenny Flint in a loose embrace. Jenny was want to move in her sleep, sometimes quite violently when dreams troubled her. They troubled Vastra too, in part due to the origins of such discomfort and in part due to the discomfort they caused her as arms and legs suddenly flailed. It could be most disquieting. And painful.

After some trial and error, Vastra had found that a loose embrace best served her dual purpose of holding her sleeping partner and surviving the night unharmed. This night Jenny appeared to be undisturbed by whatever dark emotions her unconscious might harbour. She looked the young woman that she truly was; her face unlined by concerns, her body relaxed and quite as beautiful as any Vastra had ever seen.

Vastra allowed her eyes to close, thinking that perhaps she could afford an additional few minutes in bed this morning. There were no appointments for her to attend, no clients due to call and her work in the lab two floors below was not urgent enough to draw her from the cocoon of Jenny's comfortable room.

And then, to the eternal frustration of Madame Vastra of Paternoster Row, the doorbell rang. Vastra forced back the scream of annoyance, certain that it would wake Jenny. The doorbell rang again and a third time, each ring seemingly more insistent than the last.

Vastra whispered a few calming words to her waking lover and was gratified that Jenny's body relaxed once more into sleep. She eased her arms free and herself out of bed before staring accusingly at the clock. It was before three in the morning and an entirely inappropriate hour to be waking a civilised household.

Vastra donned a long, silk nightrobe that had been an unexpected gift from her companion. It felt pleasantly cool against her scales after the furnace heat of Jenny's human skin and she enjoyed the sensation for a moment before the doorbell rang again and all pleasure left her. She closed the bedroom door with a gentle click and hastened down the staircase to the hallway.

A sigh of regret was the only indication that the vortex manipulator remained in the lab and therefore unavailable for use. Instead, Vastra took up her hat and veil, quickly donning both before the heathen at the door could ring yet again.

Vastra opened the door, aware that she must offer a quite startling - and probably unfortunate - sight but not caring a jot. She yanked at the door with such force that the wood gave out an odd little sound of protest and shook in her hand as she glared down at the interloper.

It was Detective Constable Fletch, a troubled expression on his young face and his brown eyes darkened with fatigue. He looked up, blinking at the unlikely appearance of the woman but had the good sense to say nothing on the subject.

Vastra said nothing either, simply waving him inside and closing the door behind them. They stood in the hallway, staring at each other for a few moments before Vastra inclined her head and Fletch gave a nervous little cough.

"Forgive the intrusion Madame but I have grave news, I'm afraid."

"Grave, Detective Constable?"

"For Miss Flint, Madame."

Vastra started. This was news indeed for she had expected the young man to be here to request their immediate assistance in some case or other. It would be just like Inspector Brown to drag the women out of bed at this unforgivable hour.

Vastra's thoughts cast back to some of the less legitimate devices that Jenny had employed in the course of their work. Back particularly to the residence of one Richard Alistair Kennedy and the pilfering of a great many very valuable stones.

"Miss Flint?" Vastra said more sharply than she had planned.

Fletch took an involuntary step back and swallowed noticeably before saying, "Yes, I'm afraid so, Madame. I've come directly from the home of a Professor Hoogstraten."

Again Vastra felt herself on the back foot, as her companion would say. She straightened imperiously and took a moment to consider this.

"You do know of the man?" Fletch said, mistaking Vastra's reaction.

"Indeed, he is the," Vastra hesitated, "spouse of Miss Flint's cousin, Lucinda Flint."

"Yes, well, he was, Madame. You see, he's dead and," again Fletch swallowed hard, "Miss Flint - the other Miss Flint - has been taken in on a murder charge."

* * *

Jenny's mood had gone from shocked to numb to thunderously angry in what Vastra considered record time. She had carefully woken her lover, eased her back to the world with a gentle kiss and some whispered words of affection before explaining the situation with as much delicacy as she possessed. Which was, Vastra acknowledged sadly, a very little indeed.

"Bleedin' coppers," Jenny muttered yet again as she glared out of the carriage's little window. She turned to Fletch and gave him a long stare, "Always go for the ones who can't speak up for th'selves."

Vastra shifted uncomfortably between the two humans but remained quiet. As, blessedly, did the Detective Constable. He appeared genuinely upset to have caused Jenny distress and he was after all, only the messenger. Still Jenny ranted in a low, dark voice for much of the journey.

After what seemed an inordinately long time, the carriage pulled up outside Scotland Yard and all three gratefully stepped down into the cool London morning. Fletch lead them through the entrance, passed the desk with a sleepy Sergeant looking forward to the end of his shift and on into a warren of corridors and stairways to the long line of cells beneath the building.

These, Vastra knew, were a little better than the average prison cell in human gaols but not nearly so commodious as the disused office that had housed Mr Draper during his incarceration in Little Sundersley.

The thought had Vastra asking, "Detective Constable, has Miss Flint requested legal counsel?"

"Not as far as I know, Madame. When I left she'd only asked for you two to be informed immediately."

"Looks like we're the defence again, Madame," Jenny said bitterly.

"It does indeed, my dear," Vastra risked a lighter moment, "Perhaps we should retrain?" and then regretted it.

"Perhaps the law should get it right more often," was all Jenny had the chance to say.

They had reached the final barred entrance at the head to the run of cell doors. Fletch spoke quietly to another sleepy officer who studied Vastra carefully before unlocking the barrier and allowing them to pass. His actions earned him only a hard glare from Jenny and then they were through, their steps echoing in the narrow corridor.

It was cold and forbidding even to be outside the heavy metal doors and Vastra thought of the long line of hibernation chambers that housed so many of her sisters. She was startled by the comparison and thrust the thought aside immediately.

Jenny sensed the reaction in her companion and stared up at her, hissing, "Madame?" in concern.

"A momentary discomfort, my dear, nothing more."

"Easily felt in a place like this."

They had come to a halt in front of one of the cell doors. It was made of metal of one large, heavy piece with only a small opening covered by a hatch. They waited, Jenny's foot tapping out an angry tattoo on the tiled floor, until an old Constable ambled towards them carrying a large ring of keys.

He nodded to Fletch but said nothing to the ladies as he unlocked the door and eased it open. Inside was a long but very narrow cell barely wide enough for the thin strip of a bed that filled most of the space. The walls were rough stone, washed white but grubby with use. It stank of human sweat and despair.

At the very end of the room was Lucy Flint, curled into a tight ball and rocking gently. She wore a loose smock that might once have been white, her hair dishevelled and matted with blood. Jenny swore under her breath and rushed inside, ignoring the old officer's cries of protest. Vastra glared down at the man through the heavy lace of her veil and he took a step back.

"Thank you, Cormack," Fletch dismissed the man and then said to Vastra, "I'll give you as much time as I can but..."

He trailed off and Vastra said, "Inspector Brown considers the case to be open and shut, as you might say."

Fletch nodded and walked back to the end of the corridor. Vastra waited outside the door until Jenny had soothed her cousin enough to unfurl a very little. At a nod from Jenny, she entered and stood as unobtrusively as she could manage just inside the cell.

"The painting," Lucy muttered, "the painting, Jen, the painting."

Jenny looked up at Vastra in surprise but quickly turned back to her cousin, "What painting, Luce?"

"The painting. The creatures. The painting."

Vastra sensed Jenny's rising panic and took the few paces forward to allow her to place a calming hand on her companion's shoulder.

"Lucy, my dear, pray what painting?"

"Bought it. Bought it into the house and it did it. Creatures. Tried to kill them. Tried to kill the painting. But they got him. Didn't come back but they got him."

It was the ravings of a woman driven quite mad and Vastra's mind immediately went to the case that had first introduced them to Jeremiah Hoogstraten. The case instigated by Charles Borlsover's occult-induced mania.

Jenny hugged her cousin, rubbing the poor woman's back gently and whispering soothing nonsense just as she had to Borlsover in the Middlesex Lunatic Asylum. When Lucy was calm once more, she slowly disengaged herself and indicated to Vastra that she wished to speak.

They stood just inside the cell, pressed close together, Vastra's head bowed to be level with Jenny's face.

"This is bad, Madame."

"I fear so. You wish me to visit the scene of the crime?"

"I do and quickly too."

"Then I will do so immediately."

To Vastra's surprise, Jenny reached out and pulled her into a fierce hug. Vastra held on, alarmed by the tense set of the body that she knew so well. After long moments, Jenny eased back and visibly settled herself once more.

"Thank you."

"You need never thank me for that, my dear," Vastra gave a sad little smile from beneath the veil and knew that Jenny would sense it. "Now," she took a slow breath, her eyes moving back to Lucy, "you will be all right here, Jenny?"

Jenny too glanced at Lucy and gave a helpless shrug, "I will be. But I'm not so sure about her."

* * *

Vastra was unusually nervous as the carriage fought its way through the busy traffic of a London morning. She forced herself to settle into a more productive frame of mind as the carriage turned off Homerton High Street and into Sutton Place. It pulled up outside one of the far homes in the long Georgian terrace and Vastra stepped down gratefully.

The door of Hoogstraten's home stood wide open, a young Constable and a more experienced Sergeant standing guard at the entrance. Vastra raised herself to her full height, expecting something of a battle of wills before she be admitted to the crime scene. To her surprise, the Sergeant merely touched his helmet and nodded her through.

There was no sign of the pinched-faced young houseman but there were a number of heavy-footed officers in the hallway and the rooms beyond, many of them in plain clothes. The lightly scented air that Vastra remembered from her previous visits was now thick with the scent of blood and violence. It grew worse as she was waved on into Hoogstraten's odd little study.

"Ah, Madame Vastra," Inspector Brown said from his crouched position on the floor, "I thought you'd be here sooner rather than later. Miss Flint?"

"With her cousin, Inspector," Vastra said as she too squatted down.

She had to steady herself against the stench of blood and flesh that emanated from what was little more than a pile of offal on the floor. As Vastra studied the human matter more closely, she realised that it was what remained of Professor Jeremiah Hoogstraten. Surely these men could not think Lucy Flint capable of such carnage? Only a creature far larger and stronger than such a small human female could inflict this damage.

"I know what you're thinking, Madame," Inspector Brown said, "and you'd be surprised at the strength a little thing like Miss Flint can muster. Or perhaps not, given your colleague's unusual skills."

Vastra again felt herself rattled by the situation. Had the lace of her veil fallen away? Were her thoughts now so easy to read? A flicker of respect for the generally hapless Inspector passed through her head but she cast it aside with a growl.

"Do not presume to know my thoughts, Inspector."

Brown rocked back on his heels and gave a guarded nod. He stood and offered Vastra his hand to help her up but she ignored it and rose in one fluid motion. She towered over the man and he was not short by human standards. They studied each other for a moment longer before Vastra spoke in a low, still quite dangerous tone.

"Forgive me. I am greatly concerned for both of the Miss Flints."

Inspector Brown relaxed a little and said, "And forgive me my presumption, Madame. You have any questions about this case?"

"In truth, I should like a few moments alone to consider the crime scene."

It was not a request and the Inspector had the good sense to recognise that. He left the room but the door remained open and Vastra could hear him order his men to stand guard. She was to be watched and not to leave with anything from the room. Perhaps then Inspector Brown was unmarried, Vastra thought, since he knew so very little of the benefits of a human woman's garb.

That thought too she cast aside in favour of considering the room carefully; a large study with a long thin workbench at one wall and the rest lined with bookshelves. As far as Vastra could tell, very little was different from their only other visit to Hoogstraten's private space.

There were different items on the workbench, no-longer a beautifully made box containing a strange device but now an odd set of parts that Vastra suspected were not entirely of this world. The parts may have been quite neatly arranged before being disturbed in the altercation but she doubted that Hoogstraten would have known what purpose the device should serve. The bookshelves appeared to be much the same, though some books had fallen in that same event. So too the papers, books and sundries that had occupied the desk.

With such chaos caused most likely in the act of the Professor's murder, it was difficult to tell what might have been different before. With one exception, Vastra noticed as she considered the room at large. There was a painting on the only wall that lacked bench or bookcase. There had been no such decorations when she and Jenny had first seen the room and Vastra found it hard to imagine Hoogstraten as a great collector of artworks.

The artwork in question appeared to agree with that assessment; even through the extensive damage inflicted to the canvas, it seemed to Vastra to be quite the ugliest painting she had ever seen. She stepped around the desk and studied it closely.

The piece was not too large for the room, though perhaps for the space it occupied. It was gilt framed and painted in dark colours on a heavy canvas. That canvas was cut through at various points in the scene, a scene that could only be described as foreboding.

At the centre was a prone cross made of two stout logs roughly bound together. On that cross was held a figure. A human figure with such a countenance of anguish that Vastra felt for the poor soul. His entire body was tense and tortured, his head writhed in agony, his pale skin was slick with blood and gore. Vastra glanced down involuntarily at the remains of Hoogstraten.

She looked back and widened her study of the painting. It was set on a drab table rock on a darkening evening worked in blue-greys and blue-blacks. Around the rugged cross there appeared to be spaces for figures but each had been almost obliterated by the deep slashes of a knife. A sharp blade too, one that had cut into the wooden backing of the canvas. Vastra peered in at what remained of the figures and sensed more than saw chubby little pink creatures, plump and naked like cherubs but with a feeling of such evil to them that Vastra stepped back despite herself.

She took a sharp breath and looked around the room, pleased that the officers outside the door were not watching her at that particular moment. Again, she forced down her disquiet and turned back to consider these creatures more closely. There had been twelve of them in all, if the areas of damage were to be believed. Twelve beings of evil cavorting around the tortured form of a human being. Even to Vastra's more resilient Silurian mind, the image was quite revolting.

It was worse too, for there were two more spaces that she felt sure should be occupied by these creatures. Spaces undamaged by blade, one on each side of the cross; the creatures that had spiked the figure in place.

Yet they were missing.


	2. Chapter 2

See Part One for story details.

* * *

Vastra gave a stiff nod to the officers standing outside Hoogstraten's study. She glanced into each of the other rooms on that floor but did not enter them, certain as she was that everything to be learned in the house could be learned from the study itself. She kept her hands neatly in front of her, making it clear that she held nothing more than what she had bought with her. Consequently, no-one impeded her passage until she was close to the front door.

"Madame Vastra?" Inspector Brown said.

Vastra turned and allowed the man to join her. They stepped outside and Vastra was be glad to breathe what passed for fresh air in London. She waited for the Inspector to speak, accepting his close scrutiny of her person without comment.

"Forgive me, Madame, but I must be sure that you haven't interfered with the crime scene."

"You think me capable of such a thing, Inspector?"

He had the good sense not to respond to that and instead offered, "Professor Litefoot is due to examine the scene any moment, will you not stay?"

Vastra hesitated, "I should very much like to make the gentleman's acquaintance, I admit Inspector, but alas I must return to the Misses Flint."

"Quite," was all he said.

Vastra stepped into the carriage that awaited her and instructed the driver to return to Scotland Yard. When the journey had settled into a halting jog, Vastra eased the small book from within the folds of her clothing and considered its cover. It was a plain but high quality leather with no markings or statement of use. Exactly the sort of notebook that a man like Hoogstraten would have employed to keep his most intimate thoughts. Thoughts, Vastra knew from a brief glance while still inside the man's home, that had been noted in some sort of cipher. She would need time to make sense of it and time, Vastra feared, was not with her.

She thought too about the the heinous painting on Hoogstraten's wall. The man was notable for two things, to Vastra's mind at least; for his cold, unblinking eyes and chilling personality; and for his insistence on collecting only those things that he - and indeed everyone else - found inexplicable. His interest appeared to be predicated on learning the secrets of such objects for himself, not on wishing to enlighten the rest of humanity. Vastra found the very idea repulsive. Not that she herself wished to enlighten humanity but she certainly believed that man should work for the betterment of his fellow man. And woman, of course.

So Hoogstraten had taken in the painting because it was inexplicable. There had been no signature but the inscription certainly made one wonder. Vastra had read it three times over to feel quite sure of what the small, barely legible script said: 'I sold my soul that I might paint a living picture.' This beneath sprawled capitals at the lower left of the canvas that read, 'GOLGOTHA', in paint that was pale against the dark background.

Golgotha, Vastra thought. Skull in Aramaic or bald head in Latin, hence it's alternative English name of Calvary. As the human apostle had said, "a place of a skull." So the poor man in the centre of the painting was the human Messiah and the rough-hewn cross, the crucifixion. But was it not humans who had taken his life? Jenny would have much to say on this topic - and little of it repeatable in polite society - but Vastra was more want to believe and she understood the humans' need to have faith in something other than that which could be seen and touched.

Still, the subject was at least a brave one for a human artist to make, given the style in which the piece was presented. Particularly when one considered that strange addendum. Offensive too for many of the humans who did not see the world quite the way that these English did.

Vastra had read of some recent theory by an under-employed Major-General that the actual location had been misidentified as being outside the walls of Jerusalem and was in fact north of the Damascus Gate. The thought idled through her mind, followed by the assertion that the whereabouts of the incident was not relevant to her investigation but the previous location of the painting was.

Vastra started suddenly and banged at the roof of the carriage to attract the driver's attention, her urgency plain for the man to hear.

"Driver, take me to the National Gallery immediately. With haste, I say!"

To his credit, the driver did exactly as asked, though not perhaps as safely as some of the other road users might have preferred. Vastra ignored the cries of anger as Londoners of all casts were forced to hurry their step or reign in their horse. The driver did the same and deposited her at the edge of Trafalgar Square in good time.

Vastra stepped down and considered the wide open area, pleased by the architecture and by the unusual lack of humans milling around. A lull in the daily traffic of humanity perhaps and one that Vastra was grateful for. It gave her the opportunity to consider the high columns of the central portico and the smaller entrances on either side. The domed section of the roof stood proud above and the building stretched back some considerable way beyond.

Vastra took the steps and entered into the main vestibule, then walked up the stairs into the central hall. She hardly knew where to start, aware that the building housed many different galleries and collections. To whom did one speak when one wished to discuss the existence of a 'living painting'?

"Madame Vastra?"

Vastra turned and looked down the few steps into the smiling eyes of Charles Borlsover. A familiar little thrill went through her and Vastra thanked the Goddess Lacertida for repaying her faith so amply.

"Mr Borlsover," Vastra extended her hand to the man as he joined her at the edge of the central hall, "I was only just now thinking of you."

"It is amazing how often such instances occur, wouldn't you say, Madame?"

"Indeed I would. You are well?"

She need not have asked for good health radiated from the man just as fear and despair had when they first met. He now appeared younger than his forty-five years and was dressed immaculately - if in a somewhat old-fashioned style - in a suit and overcoat. Only when she peered into his eyes could Vastra still see traces of the horror that the poor man had witnessed and, indeed, perpetrated.

"Very well, I thank you. May I ask what raised my name to your mind?"

Vastra explained the painting and suddenly Borlsover's happy countenance dropped away. The trace of lingering sadness in his eyes was replaced with an immediate concern and he shook his neatly-coiffed head repeatedly.

"Madame, I fear you have stumbled upon another disturbing case."

"It is worse than that, Mr Borlsover," Vastra said and explained the death of Professor Hoogstraten and Miss Lucy Flint's involvement, "So you see, the Metropolitan Police are quite settled on Miss Flint's guilt and I fear that will open the way to yet more attacks."

"You know," he paused to consider his words, "I had thought you strangely absent from the investigation of these attacks but now I wonder if there might be a more sinister explanation. I have heard some very troubling rumours of late from certain of my more, shall we say, colourful acquaintances."

Vastra listened intently as Borlsover talked in a low, careful voice while he lead her through the long corridors to a less frequented area of the gallery. By the time they stood at the top of a smaller but still impressive staircase leading down to the back of the building, Vastra's cold blood ran icy.

"You cannot believe that the British Government itself -"

"Oh, perhaps not the Government, Madame, but the Civil Service is quite another thing entirely and some would have it, running amok. And your Professor Hoogstraten did have some connections in that way.

"There is a great deal resting on the development of these underground railways and much emphasis on the timeframe they have set themselves, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"But surely these men would not use such creatures to kill their fellow man?"

"Their fellow man, no I don't think so. But something else perhaps?"

Vastra froze on the first step, her head snapping around to glare at Borlsover through the lace of her veil. She considered the man carefully but he simply cast her a sad smile and said nothing more.

"You are a very clever man, Mr Borlsover."

He blushed, shaking his head as he made to speak but was stopped by a loud call from lower down the staircase.

"Can I help you -" a tall, uniformed man came up the stairs towards them, "Oh, Mr Borlsover, Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you both."

"Not at all, Thompson. Allow me to introduce Madame Vastra."

"The Great Detective herself?" Thompson joined them at the top of the staircase, "An honour, Ma'am."

Vastra offered her hand and considered the man as he hesitated and then took it in a firm grip. He was tall and seemed an active sort, perhaps not entirely comfortable in his indoor work. His uniform marked him out as one of the gallery's security officers and the bearing of the man suggested that some former military service had brought him to the job.

"The honour is mine, Mr Thompson."

"Thompson," Borlsover said, "the painting you spoke of the other day, the one from a few weeks back, do you remember anything of it?"

"Difficult to forget, Sir," his face paled noticeably as he spoke, "It was quite the worst sort of thing I've ever seen. And the artist who painted it was little better."

"The artist?" Vastra put in.

"Yes, Ma'am, a mad sort of fellow, quite determined to have his piece here in the gallery. Of course no-one would hear of it; not a curator in the place who would have that hanging on the walls. Didn't put the cove off, mind you. He would insist on coming back.

"Then the blighter - begging your pardon, Ma'am - sneaks it in and hangs it on the wall. Right there too," Thompson indicated a Brocklin that held a significant position on the descend of the back staircase, "Just set the Brocklin aside and hung up his monstrosity in its place!"

"And no-one knew how or why he did this?" Borlsover said.

"Not a clue, Sir, not a clue at all. Must have come in through the back when it was open for a delivery and put it in the first spot that took his fancy. No sign of him either, just disappeared into thin air."

"And the painting?" Vastra asked.

"I spotted it as soon as I went on my rounds, Ma'am, and took the thing down immediately. No idea what to do with it, of course, and then the queerest looking gentleman happened by and asked to see it. Seemed quite taken with it too. No accounting for taste, as they say."

Here Thompson blushed a deep crimson and cast a furtive glance around them.

"Fear not, Mr Thompson," Vastra said, "Mr Borlsover and I are on an informal investigation only. You will not be implicated in any offence, you have my word."

"Most kind, Ma'am."

"The painting, Thompson?" Borlsover said.

"Well, Sir, the queer chap offered to take the painting out of the way, as it were. I gave him the old all clear and got him and that awful thing out of the back and away from here. He gave his word that he wouldn't let on," Thompson added in an accusing tone.

"And he did not," Vastra said, "you can be sure of that."

"Well, I'm very glad of it too, Ma'am. Is there something amatter with it now?"

"In a manner of speaking but you will not find yourself troubled by the subject again, I assure you."

"Most kind," he tipped his hat formally.

Borlsover thanked the man and they excused themselves, taking the staircase and another set of long corridors out through the lower galleries and back to Trafalgar Square.

"Good man that," Borlsover said as they went, "He has often helped me find the more unusual sort of artworks in the place."

Vastra did not need to ask what Borlsover's definition of 'unusual' was and she didn't wish to think too much of it either. There was quite enough that was uncanny about this case. Though she was pleased to know that Borlsover had found some sort of peace with the terrible circumstances of his brother's death and was perhaps helping others in his own small way. He had certainly been a great help to her. Goddess sent, she might even say.

So the painting had been hanging - temporarily, at least - in the National Gallery mere weeks before, some months since the attacks began. Vastra considered the timeline more closely, Borlsover remaining silent as his companion sank into her thoughts. This unknown artist appeared to have truly created a piece that lived but not, Vastra assumed, in the manner he had expected.

"Mr Borlsover," Vastra began suddenly, "is such a thing even possible?"

She did not elucidate and did not need to. Borlsover considered the question carefully and then offered a little shrug.

"Is it possible for the separated parts of a corpse to re-animate, Madame?"

Unfortunately so, Vastra thought but she said only, "Quite."

After a pause, Borlsover added, "The poor fool who fancied himself an artist must have realised what was going on and thought the National Gallery could hold the painting in some sort of stasis. Seems unlikely though."

"Fortunately, his theory was not tested; it appears that Professor Hoogstraten had an interest in the piece already."

"You do not think Hoogstraten's presence a coincidence, Madame?"

"I do not."

They were outside now, standing at the edge of the high portico and looking down on the somewhat busier Square beyond. Both remained silent for a long moment before Vastra spoke again.

"I thank you for your assistance, Mr Borlsover. I am sure that the Misses Flint would wish me to offer their gratitude also."

"I would not see an innocent young woman imprisoned, Madame, though I wonder how you can prove that innocence without exposing rather too many delicate things to the world at large."

"Delicate things indeed," Vastra thought for a moment and then changed the subject, "I trust you will join Miss Flint and I one evening when this matter is settled?"

"I should be most happy to," Borlsover said, "and, please Madame, do call upon me again, should I be able to offer any assistance."

They parted and Borlsover returned to the gallery while Vastra strode through Trafalgar Square, parting the human tide as she went. She was pleased to step up into the carriage and settle back as the driver whipped the horses into the flow of traffic to return her to Scotland Yard.

On the journey, Vastra again studied the journal. There was a diagram of sorts, carefully drawn across two pages. The legends were written in Hoogstraten's cipher and the simple lines offered little by way of clues. There were a series of strange symbols throughout, most surrounded by a box. Three of these were drawn in red ink, the majority in black. But there were two more of the symbols that were each free from the confines of the polygon.

Vastra felt sure that these two marks were of the utmost significance. Though, try as she might on the journey back to Scotland Yard, she could not reach a satisfactory conclusion as to their exact meaning. In such a case, she told herself firmly, exactitude was essential. As, alas, was speed.


	3. Chapter 3

See Part One for story details.

* * *

Vastra stood in the doorway of the little parlour of her home in Paternoster Row. Jenny had refused to go to bed, even at the end of a particularly trying day. Instead, quite exhausted as she was, the young woman had fallen asleep in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire. Fallen asleep even as she protested that she would stay awake.

Jenny appeared to blame herself for this unfortunate situation, though Vastra could not think why. She had no involvement with the painting, the attacks or indeed with her cousin's relationship. No-one, even the most callous of creatures could believe that any of this was Jenny's fault. No-one it seemed but Jenny herself.

Vastra dared not move her, fearing that Jenny would wake and again insist that she be allowed to assist Vastra in deciphering Hoogstraten's notebook. While she would always wish to have her companion's assistance in such matters, Vastra knew that she was better qualified for such tasks and that they would likely require Jenny's very particular skills in the days to come. For that, her lover would need to be well rested.

They had spent long, difficult hours at Scotland Yard both trying to keep Jenny's cousin calm and to persuade Inspector Brown and his colleagues that they might be mistaken in their assumptions. The Inspector was not moved by their arguments and Vastra had not expected him to be; their arguments necessarily being neutered by the desire to appear sane.

Sanity might be in short supply in this case, Vastra thought, particularly if Charles Borlsover was correct in his suppositions. His theory that some of these horrific attacks might not be random but targeted was one of the more terrifying notions that Vastra had ever considered. The idea that the victims might have been non-human was startling.

She was somewhat ashamed of herself for not considering the possibility before. Were she to be entirely honest, Vastra might admit that she had enjoyed the thought that she was the only non-human who passed amongst these stupid apes. But if there were others...and if the humans - at least some of the humans - were aware of their presence... Was she safe? Had she been exposed? Was Jenny in danger?

The thought left Vastra faint and she steadied herself against the doorframe. In a moment Jenny was at her side, bleary eyed and barely awake but pressing herself into Vastra's welcoming embrace and muttering soothing words until they were both lulled into a calmer state.

They remained that way for some time, Jenny dozing in the warmth of Vastra's arms, until they finally parted.

"You really must rest, my dear."

Jenny made an uncomplimentary sound and said, "I'll be fine, thank you," in a manner that could only be described as tart.

"Jenny," Vastra said and hefted her lover over her shoulder without warning.

Jenny squawked and pounded at the unyielding back but Vastra simply carried her up the staircase to Jenny's bedroom. She deposited the still writhing figure on the bed in one unceremonious motion that left Jenny gasping for breath and struggling to express her annoyance.

"Sleep, my dear, for I shall require all of your skills in the morning."

With that, Vastra leaned down, dropped a kiss on the glaring face of her lover and left the room. There was a thud on the other side of the door as something quite solid struck it full-bore. Vastra cast up a few words to the Goddess in the hope that she would be spared too much of Jenny's wrath in the morning. She could, as young Archie would say, have landed herself right in it.

She remained by the door for a long moment and wondered what had possessed her to do such a thing. She had been unnecessarily emotional throughout the day, endlessly troubled by the slightest perturbation. Both the trials and the coincidences of this case had caused her much unease. There was something else to it, something more than Hoogstraten and more perhaps even than the darker elements of the British Civil Service. It was said, after all, that what the Goddess gave with one hand, she took back with the other. Vastra was beginning to wonder exactly what was being taken back just now.

That thought left her reeling once more and she pressed her hand to the door, listening intently and pleased that the room had quieted. A little more settled now that she knew her beloved companion would at least get some rest, she quickly changed in her own room and then made for her lab and a long night of work.

On the other side of the door, Jenny seethed for some time before dropping into a deep but still troubled sleep. She awoke to sunlight streaming through the uncovered window and a cup of now lukewarm tea by the bedside. She washed and changed, dressing in her breeches and waistcoat, before venturing downstairs to find a rightly nervous Great Detective awaiting her in the hallway.

"My dear?"

"Oh, don't you 'my dear' me, thank you very much," Jenny said but it was followed by a kiss and Vastra's body relaxed in her lover's arms. This was a mistake, as one of those arms rose up to deliver a sharp little slap to Vastra's cheek, "And don't think you can get away with that again!"

"I apologise."

"So you should. Now," Jenny hesitated, "what do we do about this business then? We've got to get Lucy out of there and quick-smart. She wouldn't last in a prison for more than two minutes."

It was said with such sadness that Vastra pulled her closer once more. "This is not your fault, my dear."

"Never said it was," Jenny muttered into Vastra's neck.

"Yet you blame yourself in some way, though I cannot fathom why."

Jenny laughed bitterly, "Finally, I foil the Great Detective."

"As you so often do," Vastra smiled down at her, "Now, pray, why so quick to blame yourself?"

"I should have known something was wrong, Vastra," Jenny whispered, "I should have known when we got back from the coast and Lucy wouldn't see me. This has been going on for a while and I should have known."

Vastra held Jenny at arms length, though resisted the urge to shake some sense into her. Instead, she spoke in the firmest tone that she could muster, "Jenny, you cannot blame yourself for this. It is exhausting and it is distracting you from the task at hand. I beg of you to have faith that we will get to the bottom of this matter and affect Lucy's release as soon as ever we may."

"I do," Jenny said reluctantly, "and I know we will."

"Well then, do come down to my lab, I believe that I have discovered something of note."

"You've worked out his code?"

"Alas, not entirely," Vastra admitted, "but I believe I have deciphered enough to understand the diagram."

"And?" Jenny said impatiently.

"And I believe it is a map, my dear, marking the location of previous attacks. And, perhaps, the location of the next two attacks also."

Vastra lead the way down the narrow back stairs towards the kitchen and then turned off along the little corridor until she was pushing open the heavy door of the lab. She cast a nervous glance towards her companion as Jenny followed her inside. The room was considerably less spick and span than was the rest of the house. The ceiling and one wall were stained dark from Vastra's ongoing experiments with certain explosive substances; the workbenches were scattered with tools, parts and papers; the floor had been swept but not to Jenny's exacting standards.

Vastra offered Jenny a meek little shrug and received an exaggerated rolling of the eyes in response.

"Well, Madame, it's a very good job that you've got a lab like this."

"It is indeed, my dear."

Jenny bustled past her, resisting the urge to demand regular entry to the room to tidy up. Vastra would not appreciate the offer and she was allowed at least one room for her own purposes. But definitely only one.

"Well then, let's have a look at this map."

With evident relief, Vastra stepped up to the large bench at the centre of the room and cleared the extraneous notebooks, writing implements and tea cups from a larger piece of paper that took up much of the space. One notebook remained, Hoogstraten's, open at the hand drawn map. The larger sheet was of a thin paper and below it was a second sheet, this a detailed map of London. Jenny recognised the layout and instinctively placed herself within it. The thin paper had been marked with crosses, most boxed in with a square, some in red ink. All but two were numbered consecutively.

"This is the original," Vastra indicated the notebook, "and this a map of London."

"I know that, get on with it."

"This, then," here Vastra pointed out the markings that had been replicated on the tracing paper, "is how the original scales up."

Jenny considered it carefully. There was a cluster of attacks in one area, over near Bethnal Green, with the lowest numbers but the rest were more spread out. She traced her eyes over the marks, counting them off in order until she reached the unnumbered markings.

"So these are the attacks in order and those two," Jenny pointed out the latter, "are what's to come?"

"Quite so. Or, at least, I believe so."

"You see anything noteworthy about them?"

"I do. You?"

"They're the workings for the new underground, Madame."

"They are indeed, my dear, and I fear I may know why."

* * *

Vastra would say no more regarding her theory and nothing of the other information that she may have gleaned from Hoogstraten's notes. Jenny knew better than to pester her for details but wished that her companion would at least fill the silence in the carriage, even if it was with idle chatter. But Vastra was not one for inanities so they remained quiet on the short journey down Cheapside, passed St Mary-le-Bow and on to what would be the Eastcheap underground station.

They dropped down from the carriage into air heavy with dust and noise. A gaping crater had appeared in the middle of the busy area, buildings looming up on every side. In the crater, narrow gauge tracks ran on many levels into the tunnel that emerged from the rock face. The mouth of the tunnel was propped up with nothing but beams of wood and rickety ladders scaled the outer edges of the crater. A large lifting mechanism had been built at the rim of the crater and was busily hefting materials down to the workmen who wore nothing more than their flat caps for protection.

The whole enterprise appeared madness to Vastra's eyes and entirely unsafe. Jenny, though, stared down at the industrial scene with a happy little smile.

"Amazing, isn't it Madame?"

"It is certainly startling, my dear. Now, where do you suggest we begin?"

Jenny surveyed the area again. Only low fences separated the workings from London life and a little way beyond there was a small shanty town of sorts. It would be populated by women and children who waited for the menfolk to finish their work; by men who waited in the hope of gaining work; and by the many entrepreneurs of London hoping to tempt them all with their wares.

"Over there, I'd reckon," Jenny pointed out the cluster of rude huts, "If you want to get the most information for the least effort."

They circled the crater and stepped gingerly around the mounds of dirt and discarded materials until they were amongst the huts. Most of the denizens eyed them with vague suspicious or ignored them completely. A few scruffy children gawped openly and Jenny stuck out her tongue to them when Vastra was looking the other way. The children laughed at her and ran to trail behind them. Vastra turned back and stared down at the small apes, glad that the veil covered her less than appreciative glance.

The whole place stank of humanity and toil, of the workmen below and the people above. At least the scent of the earth was strong here too and Vastra took it in. She hesitated in her step as something caught her attention. Jenny almost walked into her and had to take a hop to the side to avoid it. Vastra barely noticed for a moment, all of her attention on the air around them. The tip of her tongue darted out from beneath the veil and tasted the scent before snapping back.

Vastra had thought the action too brief for anyone but Jenny to notice. In fact, one of the children, a tiny little dot of a creature with a mucky face but sharp blue eyes, gave a little gasp. Jenny smiled down at the girl and gently placed her finger to the girl's lips with a low shushing sound. She withdrew her finger and winked at the child, who grinned at her before returning a suspicious gaze to Vastra.

Jenny turned back too and leaned in to whisper, "Madame?"

"There is something in the air, my dear."

"Mostly muck, I'd say."

"Indeed. But something else also."

"And that would be?"

"Blood," Vastra said slowly.

"Plenty of that in a workings like this; men die all the time down here."

"Not men's blood."

Jenny's gaze flickered to the tunnel's opening but before she could speak, a little hand grabbed at her sleeve and pulled at the material. She looked around to find the little girl standing close beside her, her fingers curled into Jenny's sleeve, her sharp eyes still on Vastra.

Jenny bent down to speak to her, "What is it, eh?"

The girl leaned into Jenny face and whispered, "Is she one of them?"

"One of what?" Jenny whispered back.

"One of them lizard people?"

Jenny straightened suddenly, her eyes wide. Vastra caught the movement and spun around to see what ailed her companion. She found Jenny staring down at one of the little apes, barely breathing from the shock of whatever the girl had said.

"My dear?" Vastra waited for a reply and then added, "My dear, what on Earth is wrong?"

"Sorry, Madame, just give us a minute," Jenny finally said, then leaned back to the girl, "Have you seen the lizard people?"

The girl's eyes now locked on Jenny's face, "Yes, Miss."

Jenny took the girl's hand in her own and held on, though not unkindly. She straightened once more and said to Vastra, "Madame, I need to have a chat with this little gal. Back in a tick."

Vastra took the hint and wondered away, the other children following behind her in the hope that the well-dressed lady might offer up a few pennies. Vastra barely noticed the creatures, her attention divided between considering Jenny's discomfort and the scent of Silurian blood that tinged the air.


	4. Chapter 4

See Part One for story details.

* * *

Jenny lead the girl away, finding a quiet spot behind a cluster of huts that afforded them some privacy.

"What's your name, eh?"

"Matilda," the girl said.

"Well then, Matilda, why don't you tell me what you know of the lizard people?"

The girl hesitated, her eyes flicking back to where Vastra had stood. She was out of sight now but that did not seem to quell the girl's fears.

"Don't you worry about the Madame," Jenny said in a gentle tone, "she's with me."

That only served to trouble the girl more and she hissed, "Them bad people, Miss."

"Are they?" Jenny studied the grubby face, "Well, not my Madame. She's alright, she is. Now, when did you see these people?"

"Been attacks. On the men. Ain't supposed to say."

I bet you're not, Jenny thought but she said, "The lizard people attacked the men? In the tunnel? When was that?"

"Been two here and one at the other place. Last one was other night."

"Blimey, that must have been scary."

Matilda shrugged, "Lost me Dad before. Roof caved in."

Jenny hadn't read any of this, about these new attacks or the cave in. Apparently Charles Borlsover was right; someone was keeping this very close to the chest. And this poor little girl was left alone in the middle of everything.

"You have anyone to look after you?"

Again a shrug, "Mrs H feeds me sometimes."

"You want a wash and a decent meal?" Matilda merely nodded, a look of combined suspicion and hope in her eyes. Jenny smiled at her, "Don't you worry, you'll be safe with me. Now you come with me and tell Madame what you've said and then we'll go and get you fed, eh?"

Instantly, the bottom lip jutted out and Matilda's heels dug into the loose ground. Jenny knew that look all too well for she had worn it on many occasions as a child.

"I promise you're safe with me. If you don't want to talk to Madame, you just wait here and I'll come back for you."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

Jenny left the girl there and hurried to catch up with Vastra. She quickly imparted the information, knowing from the sudden twitch of Vastra's veil that she was alarmed. Though Jenny wasn't sure if that alarm was due to the information or the fact that the girl had spotted her true nature so easily. Perhaps they were becoming complacent, Jenny thought and said as much when Vastra had had time to consider everything that Matilda had told her.

"Perhaps so, my dear. I confess, I do grow weary of the veil."

"Always thought it added an air of mystery, Madame. Not sure you'd be such a Great," Jenny emphasised the word, "Detective without it."

Vastra managed a smile that communicated itself in her words, "You may be correct. The girl?"

"I'll take her off to Mosa and Archie, see if they can help her out. Might get Archie out asking a few questions too."

"Subtly, I pray. He must be inconspicuous in his investigations for I fear there are powerful entities at work here."

"And not all of them human," Jenny added.

Vastra merely nodded and then inclined her head as Jenny asked to take the carriage. She watched her companion go, collecting the girl and then turning back to offer a wave of goodbye before disappearing from view. Vastra felt the loss deeply and found herself hurrying away from the huts and the workings to hail a Hansom cab. She only felt free to breath again when she was safely ensconced within.

Once again this feeling of dread, Vastra thought, and again nothing but vague clues and terrible possibilities. She needed answers and many of them but there was one thing that she must know immediately.

"Driver, take me to St Thomas' Hospital this instant."

The driver obliged - though perhaps not with the gusto of her earlier journey - and somewhere on the journey over London bridge to the south side of the river, Vastra decided that she and Jenny would take their own carriage and employ that very man as their driver. It was the first truly certain thing she had considered since this whole business began and she was glad of it. As the cab clattered through Southwark, Vastra planned the alterations that would be required to their abode and felt much better in herself as she stepped down in front of the St Thomas'. She glanced over the river towards the Palace Of Westminster before turning to enter the building.

When in her most imperious stance, few humans dared to trouble Vastra and so she passed through the hospital largely unhindered until she had found her way to the mortuary. Set in the lower levels of the hospital - away from the tender eyes of so many of the apes - the air here was cool and heavy with the scent of human detritus. An attendant ambled by carrying a bucket that sloshed water around him. He eyed Vastra suspiciously but said nothing.

She followed him into the main area of the mortuary and found Professor Litefoot standing over what Vastra considered a rudimentary microscope and the Professor, no doubt, thought of as quite advanced.

"Professor Litefoot?"

"What? Yes, I -" the Professor finally turned away from his work and appeared momentarily startled before rallying with, "Well, I say, Madame Vastra, isn't it? What a very great pleasure, Madame."

Vastra offered her hand and he shook it effusively. He was a man in his middle years with greying hair and an unfortunate moustache. His hand was warm, despite the temperature in the room and his shake firm. Beneath the stained apron that covered his torso and much of his legs, he wore pinstriped trousers and an expensive shirt, currently with the sleeves held up by garters.

"It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Professor."

"You flatter me, Madame, Now," his smile faltered, "you are here in regard to the recent attack at Sutton Square, yes? I was sorry to have missed you yesterday."

"You are very kind and that is, indeed, one of the things that I would discuss with you."

The Professor lead Vastra out of the mortuary itself and into his office, a surprisingly small room with little by way of comforts. He apologised profusely for this and bustled about bringing tea from the room next door.

Eventually they were settled on either side of the desk and Vastra explained what she wished to know. There was a long pause before the Professor replied and Vastra wondered how much pressure he had been put under to remain quiet on these issues.

"I appreciate that you may have been instructed to keep your own counsel, Professor."

"There is a surprising amount of interest from, shall we say, higher up the chain of command. But still, if from nothing but professional courtesy, I feel I should answer your questions.

"As to the original attacks: they were quite as vicious as I am sure you have read. Though not," he hesitated, "not perhaps quite so bad as poor Professor Hoogstraten's death."

"And the attacks at the underground. The same?"

"Not quite so terrible, I'd say, though certainly bad enough if you were on the wrong end of it."

"Indeed. But the perpetrators, Professor, were they the same in all cases?"

"Ah, I see what you mean. Well, that is interesting thing, Madame. You see," and again he hesitated, "the thing is, the Ministry would rather like it to be thought so."

"And yet it is not, is it Professor?"

"No, Madame, it is not."

"The difference being that the former attacks were perpetrated by creatures of small statue using implements and claws, whereas the underground victims had suffered somewhat unusual lacerations to their necks and throats and only latterly, some clawing and perhaps even bite marks?"

Professor Litefoot stared at her, barely blinking as he struggled to order his thoughts.

"Madame," he said eventually, "have you been granted access to my official reports?"

"I have not."

"Then you are truly a great detective. I congratulate you on your deductive powers."

"You really are too kind, Professor Litefoot and," Vastra set aside the tea cup and rose, "I really should not take up more of your time."

"I beg you will stay and offer any further insights you may have into the case, Madame. For I should very much like to know exactly what is committing these terrible crimes and, indeed, what sort of," here he hesitated, struggling to find a suitable description, "people the victims truly were. Alas, I suspect I will not be granted that dignity by my lords and masters."

"I suspect you are correct but I really must leave now; I fear my presence may bring those same lords and masters to your door, Professor."

"Oh," he smiled, a wicked little glint in his eyes, "don't you worry about me, I can take care of myself."

"Of that I have no doubt," Vastra offered her hand again, genuinely taken with the man, "And I trust that we will have the opportunity to discuss this matter again at some later date."

* * *

"And you're sure this is the right one, Madame?" Jenny said as they settled back into the carriage once more. It was somewhat later in the evening and London's endless stream of humanity had thinned a little.

"I am, my dear. Two attacks at Eastcheap but only one at Mark Lane. I cannot say why exactly but I am certain that another attack will come and that it will come tonight."

"Something's been bothering you about all this. Something more than the obvious, I mean, and from the very start."

"It has, I confess."

There was a pause and then Jenny said, "You going to tell me about it?"

"Later, I promise you that."

Jenny reached out and took Vastra's hand, the two remaining quiet as the darkening night cast strange shadows around the carriage. They hurried through the City Of London and on to Fenchurch before turning into Mark Lane. As they approached yet another crater in the middle of the city there was far more noise than either of them had expected. There were lights up ahead too, a cluster of people milling around the edges of the light and something going on at its centre. Officers of the local constabulary held back the few gawping bystanders, London always having a supply of such people for any event at any time of the day or night.

Vastra instructed the driver to continue on a little way and allow them to descend out of sight. They both dispensed with their overcoats before stepping down, Vastra activating the vortex manipulator so that she might forego her veil and gloves.

"Hope that holds out, Madame," Jenny said as she eased her long sword into its scabbard.

"As do I, my dear," Vastra agreed, her own weapon sliding in to place at her back.

With that, they were away from the carriage and ducking into a narrow alley. Jenny lead Vastra down a winding path that doubled back and bought them close to the side of the workings. Most of the disturbance was taking place at the entrance, another low fence separating them from the top level of cleared ground. Over the fence and but two yards from them they could see the top of a ladder propped up against the steep incline.

Jenny stared out through the gloaming, watching the lanterns dancing down the far side of the crater and forming a trail to the tunnel's entrance. A cluster of men seemed to be dragging two metal crates of some weight. Behind them were more men, some of them armed. They were dressed in the shirt sleeves and flat caps of the workers but there was something about them that troubled both women.

Someone standing at the far side of the crater, looking down upon this procession caught Vastra's keen eyes. Amidst a small group of well-dressed men stood a figure that seemed familiar to her. A man of some bearing who appeared to be in command of the situation. She had seen him before, of that Vastra was certain, though she could not place the man at just that moment.

"This don't look right," Jenny hissed.

"It does not," Vastra said and cast her gaze around the crater, "We must get inside."

"I've got an idea about that."

Jenny lead her around the perimeter of the workings until they were heading away from the crater. Vastra was just about to question her motives when Jenny stopped and pointed to the ground. Vastra followed Jenny's outstretched hand to look down at a grating set roughly into the road's surface. Through the narrow slats, Vastra could just make out the beginnings of a long drop down.

"Heard about them somewhere, Madame," Jenny said, "They put them in to let the air in or the gas out or something. Gets the men out too, I dare say, if something goes wrong."

Vastra's teeth - still oddly her own, despite the humanised face - flashed as she smiled at her companion, "You never cease to amaze me, my dear."

"And don't you forget it."

Vastra reach down, took a firm grip on the slats of the grating and yanked with all her might. The vortex manipulator flicked with her exertion, unable to compensate for the sudden movement as the poorly secured grating broke free with a loud crack. Jenny looked around nervously as Vastra set the grating aside and then they both peered down into the blackness. A blackness that flicked into dim illumination every now and then as the lanterns flared below.

Vastra dropped down, her feet finding the narrow ladder that was set against the earth. She shimmied down, her attention divided between her own actions and those of her companion as Jenny too began the climb. The shaft was not as deep as either woman had expected and they were soon standing close together in the confines of a small side tunnel. Vastra inhaled the rich smell of the earth, feeling comforted by it but also aware of the underlying scent of human toil and beneath that, of blood. Human and Silurian.

Vastra took Jenny's hand and lead her to the end of the tunnel where it opened on to the broader workings of the underground railway. The air shifted around them, troubled by the many men who had now entered the tunnel proper. There was noise too, the sounds of metal crates being dragged into place and then an urgent shout that the men should stand back.

Vastra and Jenny eased forward until they could peer into the gloom at the silhouetted figures who were ranged in a wide arc at the opening of the workings. Before them, glinting in the lantern light, the crates stood some yards inside the tunnel, just at the point that the loose ground above gave way to the harder, underlying rock that supported London's metropolis.

Vastra felt the rock begin to vibrate slightly and looked down in alarm.

"Madame?" Jenny said, concerned by the intensity of her companion's gaze.

At the same moment, a final cry went up from the tunnel's opening. There was the low grinding as of metal sliding against metal and then a sudden jabbering sound that filled the air. Jenny stared out in horror, sensing more than seeing two chubby pink figures tumbling from the crates. They seemed to shimmer in the darkness with the dim radiance of fox fire. They moved with nimble little skips and jumps, dancing in a manner that appeared both gay and fierce. They were gross, man-sized, toad-like creatures with flesh that wobbled as if made from the rubber of a child's toy. Both carried objects clutched in their podgy hands and Jenny realised with a start that each was a hammer of sorts.

Jenny shivered despite herself and turned to speak but before she could the ground near the creatures appeared to erupt, rocks and earth shooting up in a dense plump that fell away to reveal tall figures.

"Beware," Vastra screamed out and then said something in the strange high-pitched language that she had used with the Sea Devils.

The sudden interruption held the newcomers, the creatures and the men in check for but a moment. The spell quickly broken, all three parties were immediately upon each other. Amongst the melee, Jenny finally caught sight of one of the tall figures and gasped. Whoever it was, it looked an awful lot like Vastra.

It was impossible to follow the battle closely with so many participants in such close combat but there was no mistaking the evil jabbering of the creatures, the war cries of the Silurians or the screams of the humans. The heavy scent of blood filled the air and Vastra gave another scream of rage.

Before Jenny could grab hold of her, Vastra was charging out of their hiding place and joining the fray. Her sword sang as she withdrew it from the scabbard at her back and Vastra swung it in a wide arc while she ran.

"Madame!" Jenny shouted and added, "Whose side are we on?" in a lower tone.

She didn't take the time to consider the question further but unsheathed her own sword and followed her lover into battle. It was then that she realised that they were not on anyone's side and Jenny found herself fending off the attacks of human and Silurian alike. She parried the weapon of a Silurian, spun away to find herself diving for cover as a human handgun was levelled at her, then looked up again to discover an evil little cherub's adze racing towards her head.

The hammer-like pickaxe stopped in mid-blow and Jenny watched as Vastra's long blade swiped down on the creature's arm. It did not cut through the flesh, seeming to bounce from it instead and a spray of pink mist rained into the air around them. It was enough to deflect the blow and the creature turned its angry jabbering at Vastra. Then a Silurian was upon it, snarling as her claws attempted to rip at the rubbery flesh. The two figures rolled away from them and Jenny and Vastra found themselves back-to-back a little way from the centre of the battle.

Men and Silurians alike had fallen, though plenty more remained locked in combat. Both pink creatures fought on, though they were as likely to attack their own masters as the Silurians.

"Switch the manipulator off," Jenny hissed over her shoulder.

She felt the static charge as the vortex manipulator's field wavered and then glanced around to see Vastra's own face grinning back at her, wild with the thrill of battle. It startled and excited her but Jenny didn't have time to consider it more as the battle again shifted in their direction and they were suddenly under attack from all sides.

Both women thrust and parried, moving sometimes in elegant turns, sometimes in desperate lunges. Jenny heard a terrible scream come from behind her and spun to see Vastra's hand ripping through a man's chest. The sight stayed her hand for a moment and then she was engulfed in the pink mist of one of the creatures. Turning, she caught sight of a man behind the thing, his arming rising up. He held a handgun, cocked and ready to fire. To fire at Vastra's back.

Jenny ignored the advancing creature, it's adze raised up to deliver a terrible blow, and threw herself towards the man. The weapon struck her shoulder and swiped down her side, ripping clothing and flesh alike. Jenny barely felt the pain, all of her focus on the gun hand of the man as he increased the pressure of his trigger finger.

She was off the ground as the bullet struck her chest and the force threw her whole body backwards to bounce off Vastra's side. The impact sent Vastra tumbling and twisting. She saved her balance by thrusting out a hand and pivoting, shrugging off the dead weight at her back only to turn and stare down at Jenny's lifeless body.

The howl of pain and rage filled the tunnel and rang out into the London night beyond. It rang around the men, Silurians and creatures, freezing them all in place for a long moment as Vastra cried out her grief. It rang so loud that it drowned out the strange groaning, wheezing sound that seemed to be coming from the rock wall itself.


End file.
